Requiem
by CrazyViolin
Summary: The horrors of war through the eyes of a group of soldiers and the folks at the 4077th. Songfic: Requiem for the Masses by The Association.


Requiem

By CrazyViolin

lyrics from Requiem for the Masses by The Association

/Requiem aeternam, requiem aeternam\\

They were known as Los Matadores, They were a small group of friends in one of the companies located near the front in Korea.

There was Jorge, the Spaniard, who was the founder of Los Matadores. He was a small man, really, but with a personality that frightened many of his companions. He clung almost comically to his ancestral traditions, even to the extent of his friend's teasing him about his heritage. The teasing always frustrated him, and his frustration would come out in a stream of fluent Spanish, which greatly amused his friends, who would bait tease him just to hear the little Spaniard get aggravated. It was Jorge, however, who told stories of Spain's glorious past to his amazed companions. It was after one Jorge's stories that he and his friends decided to call themselves Los Matadores.

There was Tom, the biggest black man any of them had ever seen. Yet, a gentler person, none of Los Matadores could name. His history was shadowed and mysterious. His accent spoke of the Chicago area, but he would never say for sure where he was from. His past was either just that, the past, or he felt that it was his personal business, and no one else's.

Ned was a Senator's son. Kind, and fair, he was the judge of the group. He came from a small town in Nevada. He was raised to be a good citizen, a man who stood up for what he thought was right. It was that same spirit that had led him to Korea, much to his father's chagrin. Ned was far from secretive, and this fact, at first, had earned him a number of enemies, boys who thought he was a daddy's boy or a pansy. He quickly proved himself a capable soldier and a good man, earning the respect he deserved.

Jack was the odd man out. Occasionally he would join Los Matadores, but he was hardly friendly with Tom. His family had been from the Deep South, and still harbored a lot of anger and resentment towards Tom and his people. The others, Jorge and Ned, would keep Jack in check whenever he got out of control, and to be fair, Tom egged Jack on in a number of instances.

Still, despite their differences, they were Los Matadores; friends, companions and soldiers. They were sent on patrols together, learning to read each other silently, learning to read the enemy invisibly and learning how to react with stealth.

Jorge sauntered back towards his friends, carrying his rifle over his shoulder, and scowling.

"What's wrong, Joe?" Jack asked, noticing his friend's angry expression.

A stream of Spanish emanated from Jorge, no doubt turning the air blue. "Men, troops! Moving, we scout! We scout!" he spat, knowing he needed to translate his message to his friends, but being too angry to translate comprehensively.

"We're goin' scoutin' again?" Tom asked.

"¡Sí!" Jorge spat, which was followed once more by a stream of aggravated Spanish.

Ned stood up, sauntered behind the Spaniard and pushed him into his seat. "Calm down, Joe. We've been scouting before. How's this different?"

"Go into North territory, we go. Bad, bad, no? Muy, very bad."

"Since when have we ever been sent into enemy territory?" Jack asked, surprised.

"Bad, muy, very bad," Jorge said once more and lapsed into silence.

"Maybe we're gonna take some new land?" Tom asked.

Ned shrugged. "Don't know. Maybe."

"Shut up, Tom!" Jack snapped.

"You shut it, Jack," Ned shot back, still calm. "Leave him be."

Jack grinned. "Ooh, look at that! Big bad Tom's gotta have a white boy fight for him!"

Tom stood up angrily, his eyes flashing in the firelight.

"Tom!" Ned warned. Everyone knew to obey Ned when he used that voice. "That's enough, all of you. Just cool it."

Los Matadores sat in silence, anger seething between the two would-be combatants.

"Tell us about Spain, Joe," Ned finally broke the silence.

Jorge nodded his head and shifted in his seat, slipping the rifle from his shoulder easily. "Mi padre. My father, I tell you of him?"

His friends shook their heads.

"He was matador. He fought the bulls, no? Good man, sí. Good man. He taught me to fight the bulls. Always, he tell me things, sí, like what to do, no? What to do if bull turns. If bull fights, if bull gets too close, no? He taught me that. Mi padre told me, most important, he said, 'Never turn your back, muchacho. No turn your back.'"

As Jorge slipped into a silent memory of his father, he left his companions sitting, trying to figure out their friend's words.

"Why shouldn't you turn you back, Joe?" Jack finally asked, curious in spite of himself.

"The bull, mi friends. El toro, he come, fight. You turn back, you die."

/Kyrie Eleison\\

The four friends shifted through the underbrush, sweeping their rifles from side to side, always ready. They were terrified, knowing that the enemy, be they Korean or Chinese, could be behind anything. Jorge was in the front, knowing just how far their orders allowed them to go. He stopped and turned to his friends.

"No," he hissed. "I see no thing, no."

"You sure?" Tom answered, just as quiet. "The reports…"

"Yeah, the reports said there was activity around here, didn't they?" Jack agreed.

"That's what the reports said," Ned answered.

"I see no th-," but before Jorge could finish the sentence, a blast from a gun brought the Spaniard to the ground.

Chaos ensued. Lead flew from every direction. A cry from Tom brought the three remaining friends to the ground. Another cry came from Tom's right, but there was nothing he could do. He, and whoever was left with him, just fired random shots towards the invisible enemy surrounding them until it was only Tom who was firing into the night. Suddenly, Tom fell to the ground, a bullet in his back.

English commands suddenly sprang up from the undergrowth, frightening the Chinese in the bushes. In a few minutes, the company for which Los Matadores were scouting, pushed back the enemy, leaving Los Matadores in the middle of the small clearing. Men came forward to see to the wounded. A few men cried out in pain, but in the midst of it all, three men stared blankly into the morning.

The soldiers reached Jorge first. Somehow, the Spaniard had turned himself over, but his eyes were dull and dry, staring at the early morning sky.

"These two are gone. Is he alive?" one of the soldiers asked his buddy.

"No."

/Red was the color of his blood flowing thin

Pallid white was the color of his lifeless skin

Blue was the color of the morning sky

He saw looking up from the ground where he died

It was the last thing ever seen by him\\

"WOUNDED IN THE COMPOUND! THANK THE CHINESE FOR THIS BATCH, FOLKS!" the PA announced to the groans of the personnel.

"Do they ever stop?" Hawkeye asked his bunkmate as he slipped his boots on as quickly as he could.

"Nah," BJ answered. "They gotta keep us dancing, Hawk."

"Cretins," Charles snapped with a stage whisper. "Complaining when those young boys need your help."

"We gotta keep ourselves entertained, Charlie!" BJ said, shrugging.

"It's Charles, you obtuse boor!"

"Hear that, Beej? We're boars! I actually prefer being called a pig, myself. Boars are so boring."

To which Charles responded with another bout of "Cretin," "Oaf," "Brute" and "Lout." Both BJ and Hawkeye ignored him as they stood up at the same time.

"Shall we, my lady?" BJ asked Hawk, bowing and holding out his arm.

Hawkeye slipped his arm through BJ's and, batting his eyes like a damsel, said, "Of course, my dear knight!" With that, the two surgeons left Charles in the Swamp, still trying to get his boots on.

The busses rolled in and the wounded were quickly unloaded. Surgeons ran from patient to patient, shouting orders about what to do, who was going first or what emergency device was needed. Hawkeye ran to one boy. He was already dead.

"Father!" he called and Mulcahy came running.

"Who is he?" Father Mulcahy asked.

"Henderson, Ned," Hawkeye read from the boy's tags.

Mulcahy looked confused for a moment, recognizing the name. "Isn't he that senator's boy?"

"Yeah," Hawk said, looking sad. "A good kid from what I've heard about him."

/Black and white were the figures that recorded him

Black and white was the newsprint he was mentioned in

Black and white was the question that so bothered him

He never asked, he was taught not to ask

But was on his lips as the buried him\\

BJ groaned, stretching his back as he came out of the OR, followed by Hawkeye, Charles. Colonel Potter came out behind Charles, rubbing his eyes.

"Hard shift, boys," Potter said.

"Mm…"

After that, there was nothing but silence. "Well, don't you all answer at once!" Potter growled. "Get some sleep, boys."

"Yes, sir!" Hawkeye answered.

"Horse hocky, Pierce. Don't be cocky."

"Sure, Dad."

"That's better."

With that, they all went their separate ways, BJ and Hawkeye towards the Swamp, Charles right behind them. The sun was rising, lighting up the flag. It was flying full staff.

"You know, Beej?" Hawk said.

"Yeah, he's me and he's tired," BJ answered.

Hawkeye continued, ignoring BJ's comment. "Why's the flag full? It should be half staff; all the kids that've died…"

"It would have to be half staff every day here, Pierce," Charles said. "Now, if you don't mind, I am going to bed." With that, Winchester pushed between the two friends and entered the Swamp, ignoring the flag.

BJ was looking at the flag, intently. "You know, I think you're right, Hawk."

"They approached the flag and reverently lowered it to half staff.

/At half mast, for the matadors

Who turned their backs to please the crowd

And all fell before the bull\\

/Rex tremendae magestatis\\

/Requiem aeternam, Requiem aeternam\\

A/N: I found (hopefully) the translations of the Latin. I hope they're right.

_Translations:_

-Requiem aeternam- Everlasting peace 

_-Kyrie Eleison- Lord have mercy_

_-Rex tremendae magestatis- King of dreadful majesty_

_All translations are approximate._


End file.
